Tempests
by APrettyPossum
Summary: The simplest answer is usually the right one. WoT femslash. [Talene/Sarene]
1. Prologue: Puzzles and Poems

**Notes: **More (eventual) femslash! This is written a bit more abstractly, but hopefully it isn't too distracting. Once again, the characters featured are minor and this is an absolute crackship, which is my favorite thing to write.

Please do not read this if you haven't finished the entire WoT series! I will eventually be getting to huuuuge AMoL spoilers. This story will also update less frequently than _Teacups_, which I'm writing simultaneously.

Let me know if you see any grammatical errors or typos. Read, review, and enjoy!

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**Tempests**

**Prologue: Puzzles &amp; Poems**

The oathbreaker lays spread eagle in the crackling, thirsty grass of the forests outside Tar Valon and doesn't stop the tears when they pool in her eyes heavier than the waters of Northharbor. She can hardly breathe; rasping gasps wrack her ragdoll frame until she starts to choke.

_(Pine needles dig into her back- her most recent self-imposed penance.)_

A bubbling knot of fear roils in her gut, the culmination of years of lying and backstabbing and loyalty to the Dark Lord _(the only time she was ever loyal_) rent asunder by four terrified Sisters in the bowels of the Tower with a stolen Oath Rod and that tortuous ter'angreal.

She flees the protection of the Tower, the trust of her new confidants, the retribution she would face at the hands of the Black Ajah. Talene runs because she intends to survive _(like all cowards do)_ and hiding in that dank room Saerin found could only last so long. The Brown had good intentions but her eyes were terrifying, and Talene's spine wanted to snap under the other Sitter's indefatigable scrutiny.

_How had we once been viewed as equals? _she thought. _Only Cadsuane Melaidhrin was worse._

That dreadful scarred face judged her as if daring the Green _(Black?)_ to betray her and the other secret seekers.

_"Stay here. I will not deliver you to the Black Ajah, but if you run, Talene, I will hunt you down myself."_

Talene quivers as fat raindrops plop unceremoniously on her cheeks. Saerin could only speak the truth and it was honest, it was real,_ it was terrifyingly assured_ that Saerin would come for her, and still (_or be Stilled_) she fled in the cover of darkness, bursting out of Tar Valon with a panicked grimace and racing footfalls. Her midnight sprint took her to the edges of Aldhe, where her she collapsed beneath the dying trees and prayed no one would find her.

_(Certainly they wouldn't expect her to stay close. Surely she was safe here in a copse on the outskirts of an abandoned village.)_

The former Sitter, a brave, confident warrior woman, curls into a ball and wishes for the comfort of another- anyone- who could take her fear away. She wishes for her stern farmer father, or housewife mother who was always quick to offer kisses. She wishes for her adventurous younger brother, now long dead, or for his children and grandchildren who hardly knew her name. Some sick, depraved part of her mind wishes for the _(false, cruel, dishonest)_ love she felt from Merean, that deceptive bitch, when she was only fifteen and her body was aflame as she moaned into the mouth of the Mistress of the Novices in her study.

_(Merean, who cared not a lick for her, who only wanted new recruits and their immortal souls and would do anything to report higher numbers to her Great Lord._

_Merean, who set her on this path with breathless whispers of _Don't you want to please me, Talene?_ and _We can be together when you take the Shawl and Oaths.

_Merean, who once called her _Galina_\- a member of Talene's own heart, no less- as she unbuttoned her blouse with practiced fingers._

_Merean who moved on to another naive Accepted the second Talene was raised to the Green and Black Ajahs, and disappeared twenty years ago without another word.)_

_You were duped, you little idiot_, thinks Talene, digging her fingernails past her mop of dripping blonde hair and into her skull. _N_o_w you can't go back._

The decaying scent of the forest permeates the air, now soaked with sheets of rain, mixing into a nauseating concoction.

Rolling to her side, the oathbreaker dry heaves herself into unconsciousness, weeping pitifully until blackness consumes her. When she wakes groggily in the grey dawn the sky is still storming, but Talene seeks no shelter. She screams into the mud_ (at the Light and at the Dark and at herself)_ for not drowning in her sleep, reinforcing in her mind that there is not a shred of mercy in the world.

* * *

_(__The simplest answer is usually the right one.)_

Sarene stares at the neatly printed proof laying on the borrowed desk in the Stone of Tear, leaning forward to read in the dim candlelight. Vitalien sleeps on the dusty bed- she will take the pallet tonight- and she would hate to disturb him with a surplus of unnecessary candles.

_Semirhage has been erased from the Pattern_, Cadsuane told her emotionlessly, colder than any White could hope to be.

Semirhage, who'd howled like a guilty novice beneath Sarene's ministrations. _(She'd nearly died laughing when she recounted her tale to Beldeine. Yes, she'd really spanked one of the Forsaken with a hairbrush for refusing to eat her beans.) _The nightmarish woman had shrieked threats until her voice went out, and then the blubbering began. That was the crux of Cadsuane's brilliant, fearless gamble: Semirhage was a woman. Only a woman.

Another human being erased from the Pattern by balefire. A lamb beneath the butcher's blade.

_(Sarene is the queen of parsimony and relevance. She could find the bottom line, the highest truth, and everything in between with a well-planned argument. And now her unparalleled deductive reasoning has convinced her to be afraid._

_With ink and parchment and a touch of statistical analysis, she has proven that one of the Forsaken will come for her, but to avenge Semirhage's death or by pure chance, she is still unsure. Motives are more difficult to analyze.)_

The blonde Gaidin stirs beneath the blankets and his Aes Sedai idly thinks that he's such a handsome specimen _(well muscled and tall with perfect bone structure)_and that it's been far too long since she's penned a poem about him. He settles in a new position on his side, and she offers a small smile to the most important man in her life.

She loves him dearly.

Of all the subjects of her poems _(so unlike proofs, but equally gratifying)_, she favors him the most. The White's writings have only been intercepted once, by some nosy novice that she still intends to find and punish, but the whole situation was atrociously embarrassing. She counts herself fortunate that the poem was about her Warder and not her fellow Sisters, whom she frequently uses as her subjects in far more erotic contexts, often with each other.

_(Vitalien loves her enough to keep up the ruse, to feign a pseudo-marriage. The stolen poem set the subterfuge in motion and the deception never lost momentum. After all, what powerful, frightening, masculine Gaidin pined for the Warders he faced in the ring? What painfully logical Aes Sedai could irrationally long for the touches her Sisters? Pillow-friends are for lonely novices, not grown women, Sarene reasons.)_

Her fingers itch to disprove herself or write some flowing prose, but the candlelight is dying and her heart races despite her calm demeanor. Sarene crosses her legs, skin sliding across the ivory silk. The Aes Sedai sits prone; she is crippled by terror. Images resurface of a corpse in the hall, blood shading the Tairen wood a darker stain, and the hair on the back of her neck rises as if she stands in a lightening field.

_Semirhage has been erased from the Pattern_, they told her. Yet Sarene still feels the bone-shaking agony that once accompanied memories of the Forsaken; it is a fear that should be dispelled. _(She knows in her gut that the nightmares are not done playing with her: the logic doesn't lie. In so many ways she fears the Forsaken more than the Dark One himself: they are more tangible, more fickle, and more likely to seek her out.)_

She wants to crumble into strong arms, to be rocked to sleep and be kissed so deeply she can't breathe, but she hugs herself more closely instead. Sarene blows out the candle.

_(It is the only answer for now.)_


	2. Chapter 1: Arrivals

**Notes: **T-t-t-time skip! There are a lot of minor characters involved in this chapter, and next to no romantic plotlines (well... at least not for Talene and Sarene, yet), so bear with me. It'll come around eventually. :)

Read, review, and enjoy!

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**Chapter 1: Arrivals**

Talene strides through Thakan'dar Valley- Shawl and Great Serpent ring tucked safely in a ragged leather pack bouncing behind her- looking more like a disheartened foot soldier than an Aes Sedai. It isn't the wrinkled trousers or dirt beneath her cropped nails that creates the illusion, but the deadened eyes that sweep across the landscape, searching for enemies and a mercifully swift end. She approaches a cluster of Domani guards, mouth pressing into a flat line of displeasure. Their grasps tighten around sword hilts and spears, but she resists the reflexive urge to embrace _saidar_.

Just beyond the outpost hundreds of people- everyone from well-muscled Aiel to gaunt Dragonsworn- work in the gloomy twilight of the Dragon's camp, healing wounds, washing clothes, cooking food. Several faces turn to watch her approach, suspicious of a lone outsider from appearing the South. The Final Battle has been raging for days and morale is clearly wavering inside the Blight.

_A wise choice to be mistrustful. It would be very like a Darkfriend to attack from civilian territory instead of the Northern battlefields._

"Halt and identify yourself," a bearded man orders. His dented helmet is heavily feathered, a mark of leadership.

She pauses several paces from the tent, hands hanging limply at her sides. "I am Talene Minly. I seek an audience with Adelorna Bastine of the Green Ajah."

The man frowns before turning to his underlings. Talene cannot hear what he asks, but several of the others shake their heads.

"There is no Adelorna Sedai here. What business do you have at this camp?"

Her eyebrows furrow. "Who leads the Aes Sedai in battle?"

_Adelorna must be dead to hand the leadership of the Battle Ajah to another. The Captain-General would never relinquish that responsibility, much less in the face of Tarmon Gai'don itself._

A wave of sadness washes over her, adding another disappointment to the depression that has recently become her normal emotional state. She refuses to weep or show any outward sign of mourning. Months ago, lying in a freezing, damp forest, she promised herself she was done with tears.

Still, her heart aches. Adelorna had been her friend once, decades ago, when others were too intimidated by her new position as a Sitter to treat her like a confidant. Talene had even given the younger Green her Shawl when she was raised. She sought her out to apologize for years of betrayal, for not protecting the Tower in its time of need, and to make amends in the Last Battle. She'd come to Shayol Ghul be useful before she died, whether or not Adelorna forgave her.

_None of that can happen now._

Before she can respond, a shield slams down around her, cutting her from the Source entirely. A weight forces her knees to the frozen dirt as if an Ogier sits on her shoulders. Talene's dark-circled eyes fearfully dart past the soldiers before locking onto the passive face of a woman she'd not seen since before the Tower split.

"Seonid," she gasps.

_Hadn't she been lost at Dumai's Wells?_

The other Green wears the garb of an Aiel Wise One, a plain brown skirt and white shirt, with her Shawl wrapped loosely around her waist. The shield surrounding her is too strong to be from Seonid alone, but Talene cannot pinpoint the source of additional power. Several Aiel stop to watch the tense interaction, fingers toying with their black veils.

"Explain why you are here, Darkfriend."

_(Forever a Darkfriend. The moniker is tattooed across her heart and forehead.)_

"I'm not-"

The weight presses harder, straining against her spine. She falls to her hands with a groan.

"Do not lie to me, Talene Minly," Seonid coolly cuts her off. "The entire Tower knows you are Black Ajah."

"No, Seonid, please! I can't lie! I swore the oaths again- I'm Green, only Green-"

Her chest thuds to the ground, breath rushing harshly out of her lungs. Seonid wills the wall of Air to encompass her prisoner entirely, making it impossible to speak or inhale. The Aiel watch noiselessly as Talene turns a ghastly shade of blue. Squirming and choking, she thinks, _All this way to asphyxiate at another Sister's hands. All this way to die in the dirt. _

A pair of soft leather boots appears before her nose as the shadow of a tall Aiel woman falls across her bulging eyes. The fiery-haired Wise One lightly touches Seonid's clenched forearm. Through her air-deprived haze, Talene can barely see the link between the two channelers: the stranger is easily as powerful as Talene herself, despite giving the weaker Seonid control of the weaves.

The pressure dissipates as soon as the sun-tanned hand reaches pale Cairheinin skin. Talene gulps a breath so painfully deep that her lungs burn, and doesn't bother to wipe the trails of dust from her face. She lays heaving on her back between the two women, praying for mercy she doesn't deserve.

_I have been punished more by the Light than the Dark. I hurt them far worse._

Seonid sighs softly, regaining a measure of composure more suited for an emotionless White: even as a novice she'd been quiet and calm in the most strenuous situations. Her wide blue eyes survey the Wise One's half-smirking face.

"She betrayed us, Edarra," Seonid quietly says. "If she were an Aiel she'd be _da'tsang_."

_(Despised One. Even with Talene's pathetic knowledge of the Old Tongue- she'd never enjoyed studying languages, or studying at all for that matter- she can recognize the phrase.)_

"Perhaps. But she is not Aiel, and she asked to see the leader of the Aes Sedai. Let _her_ choose this one's fate."

Talene shakily presses herself to her knees, "Adelorna lives?" The desperation echoes in her voice.

_My friend. My only friend..._

"What does it matter to you? She would have you Stilled for your treachery," says Seonid. Edarra stands still beside her, head tilted nonchalantly to one side. Even looking up at her the fading light, Talene can clearly see she's an uncommonly beautiful woman, stunning and fierce. The short-haired Green seems even more petite than usual beside her tall, lithe frame.

A weave of Air pulls Talene to her feet, shoving her ungracefully into the heart of camp. She hears Seonid thank the guards for their time, but offers no explanation of their intended destination. Edarra retrieves the leather pack from where it rolled and idly roots through its contents, pausing to finger the golden Great Serpent ring she finds buried in a pocket.

"We'll have to find a blacksmith to melt it down. She won't need it anymore," Seonid snaps.

_No, Light, please. Not that. _

Talene says nothing aloud, but begins to quiver. Her mind counters, _What did you think would happen, fool? They'd take your word? They'd forgive you on the spot for years of spying for the Dark One?_

She catches only the end of an offhanded remark from the Wise One, "-harsh for a wetlander, little Seonid."

* * *

Sarene is weary. Blinking awake drooping eyelids, she crosses her sore arms beneath her chest. She'd hoped to be released from Cadsuane's tent early in the evening but soon found her dream dashed by Sorilea's demand for a full report on the day's proceedings. The two powerhouses are frequently in each other's company, both while making midnight rounds of the camp and planning for the next morning's assault on the Shadow. Sarene could hardly imagine when they slept.

Faeldrin recounts her tally of Dreadlords and Shadowspawn in an exhausted monotone, pointing to locations on a map-strewn table. She is not a powerful channeler, but has an excellent memory when it comes to estimating enemy numbers. Sarene enjoys spending time with the other Taraboner, though the short Green shares very few of her interests. She speaks frequently of her Warder, her lover, in a way Sarene struggles to mimic concerning Vitalien. It worries her that she must.

"Ituralde's troops are overwhelmed. Our policy of not engaging the Trollocs unless a Dreadlord appears may need to be reconsidered along the Northern flank, here. Perhaps we should divert our attention tomorrow from the slopes to the valley itself," Faeldrin meekly suggests, peering up at Cadsuane. The gray-haired woman takes a sip of tea, but makes no move to reply.

From her place in the corner, Sarene bites her tongue. Subtle hints of sending a team of Aes Sedai through a gateway behind enemy lines have been dropped for days, a bold tactic she initially believed could buy both time for the Dragon and lives on the field, but, after seeing the sheer number of horrors pouring from Shayol Ghul, she finds she can no longer condone the idea.

_It's a suicide mission. _

_(War does not suit her. Too many gruesome details and bodies rent asunder invade her waking thoughts, and she drowns nightly in memories of blood. Trolloc organs look surprisingly human.)_

She bites down harder, knowing that she stands second-to-lowest in _saidar_ among the Aes Sedai present._ I have been chided too many times for speaking out of turn. Saying the first thought that springs to mind is exceedingly unwise in this tent. _

Regal _(and distractingly lovely)_ Kiruna frowns more deeply beside her while Corele and Damer whisper among themselves in the opposite corner. They fear being separated in battle, if Corele's uncharacteristic hand-wringing and Damer's defeated face are any indicator. Sashalle Anderly, a Red, stares emptily at the floor. She had never emotionally recovered from being Stilled months earlier, though Damer himself healed her ability to use the Power, and she preferred the company of the Aiel these days.

Two Wise Women- Bair and Amys - sit beside Sorilea in silence. They listen attentively to Faeldrin's report despite the fact that Bair, the eldest, cannot channel in the slightest, and Amys, younger but equally snow-haired, had fought harder than any other person present in Thakan'dar Valley earlier that day. Only Aviendha's Circle had wreaked more havoc on the Shadowspawn that afternoon.

The Sorilea anomaly remains a source of confusion to Sarene. She watches the old Aiel lounge on colorful pillows strewn about the ground, studying a map demarcated by her own scouts. No doubt she would share her information with Cadsuane alone once their contingent of informants parted ways. The frail-looking woman can barely sense the Source, much less produce a solid weave, but the Wise Ones universally defer to her and Cadsuane treats her as not only an equal, but a confidant.

Suddenly, Amys leaps to her feet, embracing _saidar_. Faeldrin and Sarene follow suite, brightly colored beads tinkling as they whip their heads around to join her piercing gaze at the front of the tent. A woman channels outside.

The flap of the tent pulls back and a tall, fiery-haired Aiel woman casually walks inside, greeting her fellows with a smile and nod, "Sorilea. Amys. Bair." She pauses momentarily before adding, "Cadsuane."

Amys releases the Source with a scowl, "You must learn to announce yourself, Edarra. This is not a sweat tent."

"Forgive us for the interruption," says a cool voice from outside. Seonid ducks in apologetically before leading a third woman whose head hangs low. _(She droops like a scarecrow.)_ The woman, sickly and covered in grime, is shielded and bound by the short-haired Green. "I thought you'd want to see her, Cadsuane Sedai."

_Strange. She's linked to the Wise One,_ notes Sarene.

Before anyone can move to stop her, Kiruna strides up to the bound woman and backhands her with a vicious snarl.

Corele gasps into Damer's chest, Sashalle's lips purse, and Faeldrin cringes, maps crinkling in her balled fist. The ragged blonde staggers to her knees, eyes watering, but says nothing. Kiruna leans to strike her again, shrieking, "You traitorous bitch!"

Edarra catches the raised arm with a _tsk_. She warns, "She's practically _gai'shan_, wetlander. Do not strike someone who cannot strike back."

"_Gai'shan_?" Sorilea asks lowly.

The tent is silent but for the sound of Kiruna's furious panting. Her queenly demeanor is buried by animalistic rage, hazel eyes glaring at the shaking prisoner like a rabid dog's. Sarene is astounded by how quickly her haughty aloofness had been consumed by violence at the mere sight of the kneeling woman. She cannot place the gaunt, familiar face, but senses that she is a powerful channeler.

"Did this woman attack you?"

"No!" Seonid starts. "No. She attacked no one here. She approached the Southern outpost and asked for Adelorna Bastine. And she's not my _gai'shan_, Edarra. This is Talene Minly," Seonid says flatly, "a former Green Sitter and confirmed Sister of the Black."

Cadsuane slowly drains her tea.


End file.
